Back in Black
by precious-passenger
Summary: A reaction fic to 9x23 and Dean's thoughts throughout the episode. Now a multi chapter about what I think would happen in season ten.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Back in Black

Summary: This is a reaction fic to 9x23 and Dean's thoughts throughout the episode.

A/N: So, first of all, holy freaking shit! I'm kind of a newbie and haven't experienced a Supernatural season hiatus. But, the upside is the fanfiction and we're going to keep each other sane and human. So, this is the first of hopefully many reaction fics to Season nine.

* * *

Sam and Castiel manhandled, or technically man-angel handled Dean away from Gadreel. They locked him up in the dungeon, not unlike they'd done so with Crowley, together. He tried reasoning with them, stating how odds were not exactly favoring them and they couldn't afford any more pity spats. He turned to Castiel but saw the angel looked away. Dean finally turned to Sam and wanted to reason, but what could he say? His mouth opened, words already forming to explain not to do this because they were 'family' and he was his 'brother'. But that didn't mean jack to Sam, right?

Dean's expression hardened and he made himself snap of his girly emotional musings.

So that's why his pleading of_ "you can't lock up your own brother"_ turned to "_the _'guy'_ who has a shot at killing Metatron._"

So, there he was, caged like some filthy plotting demon. How fitting.

His hands started shaking, from rage, adrenaline or terror he didn't know. Most likely a sick combination of them all. But, worst of all was the need, the need to rip something apart, to destroy and destroy it all.

A rush of dread swelled inside him and he tried to squish it away. His stomach was churning and his head was reeling. This was how Sammy felt when he and Bobby locked him up in the panic room? Another instance of his long list of screw ups.

He emptied the contents of his stomach to a corner of the dungeon and that was when his whole being shook in dread, the adrenaline vanishing instantly.

_What was wrong with him?_

Dean needed answers and the now smelly room wasn't providing any. He went through the shelves, desperate to do something, _anything_ and was startled to see his reflection in the mirror. It always intrigued and scared him in an equal measure, seeing himself in the mirror, watching his eyes turn cold and distant as he tried to cynically inspect his appearance, hoping it would somehow guide him out of whatever hell he's gotten himself into.

Blood was dripping down from the corner of his mouth and he knew he should be concerned, he coughed up blood for god's sake, but what worried him was the eyes. After the stint he pulled in hell every single time he'd check his eyes, a proof that he was still human, that all that was happening to him was real. Looking in the mirror was the scar on his hand he'd thrust his finger in, his sanity.

But, this time there was something wrong with them, like, _really_ wrong.

He looked away and saw the ingredients stacked neatly on the shelf. A plan formed in his mind and he'd gathered up the ones he needed, glad that he had the summoning spell memorized.

Crowley took his sweet time to get there, with that annoying smirk on his face that Dean was just itching to wipe out. _Easy there,_ he chanted to himself. Crowley was the only one willing to help him and he needed him to get out of this room.

But, this new part of himself, the one who was like a foreign guest residing in Dean's body, wouldn't listen to reason. It growled, clawed and itched for the blade, for kill.

Crowley revealed that little piece of information he'd conveniently forgotten to mention to him. That he was going to die if he didn't kill. That he'd have to feed this monster inside him with shedding blood.

What if he hurt someone over nothing? What if he hurt Sam, Cas or an innocent human? Just because they got in the way. No, he'd rather die. Without a single doubt in his mind. After killing Metatron, he decided and let himself be led out of the dungeon by Crowley.

Storm was coming, he could feel it.

* * *

A/N: Should I continue? I'm a little scared. Honestly, I'm surprised that I managed to write this much with the episode so fresh on my mind. But, I'm going to post it before I chicken out.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley was gnawing on Dean's very last nerves. Riding with him in his car wasn't exactly the definition of joyride. It didn't also help Dean's sanity that his phone vibrated in his pocket every few minutes. All that kept him calm was the blade on his lap and he'd touch it every so often, like a lifeline. He refused to let himself think over how pathetic that made him, seeking comfort in an inanimate object. Whatever that worked.

They drove, getting away from the bunker. The music only turned on to silence Crowley. After a while the demon started complaining that they should stop whenever they saw a small bar in a corner, droning on and on that how his legs were getting stiff and making a jab that 'how did moose fit his giant legs up in this piece of junk?'

Dean drove past the first bar just to spite him, but he stopped at the next. They needed to find out what Metatron was up to and they didn't have a single clue at where they should head next. Hence stopping and wasting the precious time over research.

As soon as he got off the car a sense of unease spread over him. Now that he didn't have driving to distract him, the jumble of thoughts attacked his mind. Dean focused to stay in the game. He had to do this one last thing right. His final job before getting off from the stage.

He ordered coffee, not even bothering to look at the waitress. But then Crowley, seeming adamant to keep his sense of humor even in this whole mess, scolded him for 'taking the lady's time'. Dean barely resisted rolling his eyes and turned to the girl while he waited for his, _well, Sam's,_ laptop to boot. His charming smile turned on without him giving a conscious thought about it and he saw the girl's eyes light up in…warmth? Care? Dean couldn't even identify it properly.

Did she know she was going to serve the King of Hell and an addicted to murdering freak? She wouldn't be so relaxed and smiling if she knew that little piece of information.

Dean ignored Crowley while he went on and on, criticizing the place and his life or whatnot, typing away familiar search terms in the little bar. He didn't even acknowledge his ramblings and how it was starting to get on his nerves. He didn't like the demon talking to him like they were old friends or something But, he couldn't help but be sucked into the banter and straight into Crowley's trap, providing him with amusement of getting on his very last nerves.

"What's _your_ problem?" Crowley snapped back.

Dean didn't let it sink in and replied quickly, "Metatron". Once Metatron was finished, he was too. So, in a way he didn't lie…much.

Once they found out from Crowley's minions what Metatron had been up to. Dean could feel his blood boiling in his veins, itching to wipe that pretentious little smile from that bastard's face.

Hunger had little meaning to him, despite the fact that he'd been driving in car for hours, so he dismissed Crowley's fake concern for his health and pushed the door open, barely remembering to leave cash…and the freaking tip.

The drive was exceptionally quiet, Crowley seeming lost in his thoughts and Dean…well, he tried not to think about his thoughts.

He saw Sam standing there in front of the van the woman in the film was supposed to be and suppressed a sigh. He got off the car and

"I'm going to take my shot for better or worse…no matter the consequences," he heard himself say and that was the goodbye, that was all he had to explain why he had to _leave _after this mission.

He'd been used to waiting for death. His whole life he'd been staring at it in the face, seeing the possibility that every hunt might be his last one. And for a whole year he knew that hellfire and hell itself was waiting for him in the end of the year. Hell, he had lunch with the Death itself so it wasn't much to fear after everything he'd seen and knew what Heaven _and Hell _were like.

The drive to the homeless encampment was silent, the tension rolling from them both and Dean let himself get sentimental how this was his last drive…his last time with his brother. Because no way in hell he was going to let Sam near Metatron, it wasn't his fight, no matter how much he thought so. He was going to take his shot and he knew the consequences were going to be deadly. And Sam was in the way or might get himself killed or worse saw him become the unstoppable monster. Maybe he might even kill Sam. Cain killed Abel, right?

Dean tried to apologize, knowing damn well that it didn't fix anything he'd done the last couple of months. Not a single one of them. He didn't deserve Sam's forgiveness but he needed it and was too proud to ask for it.

So, he knocked Sam unconscious once he got the needed information from him, leaving him there beside his car.

_Take good care of her, brother._

He reached to the camp, shocked as the kingdom Metatron had made for himself with all these human followers. He stalked inside the building only to see Metatron sitting cross legged, meditating.

_Kill him._

_Kill him right now._

The voice roared in his head and his hand shook in control to keep the blade in place. _Not now,_ he had to do this with patience, just a job, not revenge.

_Remember what Bobby said?_

But this was no Dick. This was the freaking evil staring at his face, justifying his actions and he was losing control... fast.

So he took the blade out and one minute he was ready to stab and the next he was flying across the room, hitting the wall. He couldn't get up and couldn't even bring his hands up to defend himself to the blows raining on his face.

Dean tried to summon the blade so he could finish the job and finally die in peace, but the damned thing wouldn't budge. Finally he felt the blade in his hands.

_One more try._

_One last try._

And then he felt the knife forcing inside him. Pain…so much pain. He could hear someone calling him but he lost consciousness.

_It's like going to a dream. Just like sleeping. And a little like…flying._

_Don't be scared._

But someone was shaking him… keeping him from sleeping and he knew it was Sam. He could feel him and he felt bad that Sam had to see him go.

"It's better this way," he said weakly and tried to explain.

Sam wouldn't have it and tugged him up, half carrying his weight and Dean allowed him, it was the least he could do then. His head was leaned against Sam's shoulder. His whole body was going numb, sluggishly dragged by Sam.

He just wanted to go and be free of this… of everything.

But there was something of grave importance he had forgotten to say. Something that he remembered just then that he had to say to the one person it mattered.

He pulled Sammy close, stopping him in his mission to carry him out and _heal _him. Couldn't Sam see? He was already healed?

"I'm proud of us," he rasped with his last breath.

_Of what we did, all these years, together._

_Finding Dad...Killing the Demon…Saving the world from Apocalypse, Angles, Demons and Leviathans and every single monster that ever dared to walk on Earth. _

_Let go, Dean._

_Goodbye, Sammy._

* * *

A/N: One, I'm crying right now. Two, I think I'm going to continue, but after this chapter it's going to be all my speculations with what I think season ten would be like.

So, what did you think?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So I'm kinda insomniac right now and decided to start working on this chapter. Hopefully I could rest after writing this.

A huge thank you for all the support I've received for chapter two, it was an exceptionally hard one to write and I'm glad you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

* * *

Sam had been pacing the room for a while now, only sitting to gulp down some more alcohol before resuming his angry steps, the simple action of one foot against the other that got harder to do by each passing minute.

He'd stared at Dean, lying, _resting,_ on the bed for quite a while now. He'd stared at him long enough to know all the wounds that had littered his brother's face and only imagine how he'd been beaten up to get them.

Sam had gone out of the room once the sad feeling had settled that his brother wasn't going to miraculously jump back up from this.

_Cas_.

He'll have to call Castiel soon. If he was even alive. Right after finishing this last swig, he promised himself. The swig soon turned out to finishing the whole bottle and almost half of the other one he had found.

Sam was drunk out of his mind, swaying around the bunker. Drunk on booze and drunk on sorrow and he could feel…well, it didn't matter how he felt, because Dean was gone and nothing mattered.

How he found himself standing in the dungeon, he had no clue, but, that's where his brother could be felt the most right now, the last place Dean resided was in this filthy dungeon. _Oh God_, how was he going to face entering Dean's room, seeing the smiling photo of their mother and all the family, now with three of them gone…what was he going to do? Dean's made up bed and stacks of magazines and albums would be a torture to look at.

Usually it was Dean who'd pick up the pieces and recover first and now, Sam wasn't sure if he even _wanted_ to recover from all this.

He saw the ingredients to the summoning spell and lunged at it, taking the match in his shaking hands, careful not to drop it. He _would _get his brother back. Even if it was the last thing he did, which Sam suspected it would be.

"Crowley, you bastard. Get your ass in here," he yelled, his voice bordering on sobbing.

* * *

The first thing Dean felt was the blade in his hands. He felt the power coursing through him and then a feeling of dread washed over him. Was this his version of Heaven his messed up mind had conjured up? Holding the blade and killing was his glorious moment? Or was this somehow Hell and this was his punishment to torture innocent souls with the blade?

Or was it Purgatory, a dark idea flashed inside him. Had he become that much of a monster that he belonged there with the rest of them, fighting tooth and nail for survival.

Dean didn't open his eyes. Years of practice drilled into his head by his father, 'assess the situation, then move' had him frozen and he continued his silent exploration.

Next, he felt an intense burning near his left shoulder blade, near his heart. Strange, the only time he'd felt a pain like that in there was when the tattoo artist was drawing the anti possession mark he and his brother had marked themselves. But, this pain was nothing comparable to the amount he felt then.

The burning got worse and that was what made Dean open his eyes, his hand moving to cover and rub the place. Soon, his fingers started clawing at his skin as he felt the area start to throb. The feeling had spread through his whole body, but most of the focus was near the demon possession tattoo. It wasn't until he'd drawn a line of blood on the green ink that the ache subsided, fading away. He felt…welcome now with the tattoo mutilated. Strangely comfortable in his body. Like he didn't belong there before.

That's when he noticed the terrible stench of sulfur filling the room. He looked around only to realize that he was sitting in a bed in the bunker. Strange. How did he end up there?

Dean couldn't remember coming here and as far as he knew, he wasn't the sleepwalking type. He was dead, he was sure of that. So this must be some sort of a vision, or he was a ghost.

He abandoned his thoughts when he spotted a full length mirror. He rose up and made his way, the habit forcing him to examine himself. Inspect the damage and find out what was wrong with him.

He looked inside the mirror and he saw that his face was in a terrible shape, but he'd had worse and would somehow _live_. Then he turned his gaze to his eyes, staring solemnly back at himself.

And then, the unthinkable happened. Something that only happened in his nightmares. His eyes turned black. Dean's eyes widened in shock and he could see the thing's black eyes do the same.

_This is a nightmare. _

_It's not real. _

_Wake up._

The mirror shattered, the pieces of glass sticking to his knuckles, making it bleed. But, he couldn't feel the pain.

He crumbled to the floor, knowing that somehow this wasn't a nightmare. In other words, it was a nightmare coming true.

He was a demon.

And that was when Dean started sobbing.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Feelings? *silently offering cookies*


End file.
